


The Rains of Solitude

by jibber_jabber



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Developing Relationship, F/F, Festivals, Grief/Mourning, Imperial Legion, Mercenaries, Rain, Romance, Skyrim Civil War, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24005086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jibber_jabber/pseuds/jibber_jabber
Summary: During the height of Skyrim’s Civil War, a stranger comes to Solitude and changes Elisif's perspective.
Relationships: Elisif the Fair/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	The Rains of Solitude

It hadn’t rained in Solitude for a month, not since First Seed. Instead of weekly storms and mists, Rain’s Hand brought with it dry skies, and the flowers in the palace garden, normally a vibrant rainbow, wilted and slunk towards the earth. The trees shed their leaves early. The town looked barren and empty. In the streets, people whispered that the hold had fallen under a curse.

In times of distress, the people of Solitude turned to rituals. They held their festivals and celebrations under an unyielding sun, dancing well into the night with goblets of mead and wine in hand. They placed offerings outside their windows for Kynareth, in the hopes that she might hear their pleas, and the rains would fall once more. But their efforts held no sway over the heavens, which refused to open and release their tears to the earth. 

Elisif the Fair missed the flowers the most. During her daily briefings with General Tullius, he took her to a cramped room in the Blue Palace. It was littered with battleground maps and books on war strategy, but it had a single window on its right side looking out towards the garden. She liked watching the flowers bloom and unfurl to reveal bright petals, and it saddened her they weren’t growing anymore.

“Jarl, are you even listening to me?”

Tullius huffed and lowered the diagram he held in his hands, which detailed the soldiers’ movements for a surprise attack he had planned on a Stormcloak camp. 

“I am.” Elisif clasped a hand over the amulet she wore on her neck. Torygg had given it to her on their wedding day. “Of course I am, General Tullius.”

“If I may be blunt for a moment, Jarl,” Tullius said. “This is what people mean when they say you’re inexperienced and naive. Do you know how many soldiers will die if this attack doesn’t go as planned?”

“A lot, yes, I know,” Elisif said sharply. “We’ve been over this.”

“Then with all due respect, I suggest you start acting like you know that.”

Elisif squeezed her hand over the amulet, sighed, and released it. Tullius was right—she’d been so distracted as of late. It was awfully hard to sleep these days, with such dry air and grief for the fallen soldiers pressing in on her. 

“Right, of course.” She straightened up and nodded. “Let’s get to work.”

Tullius shot her one last sideways glance before launching back into the battle plans. He kept Elisif in that room until late in the evening, and when she finally emerged, the sun had already started its descent down the sky, marking another full day without rain.

* * *

On the day of Roggvir’s execution, a stranger arrived. She waltzed into the Blue Palace with heavy armor on and two swords tucked into sheaths on either side of her body, insisting that she speak with Falk Firebeard. Then she turned towards the throne and quickly bowed, as if just remembering that she was in the presence of a Jarl.

“Jarl Elisif. Sorry about that.” The stranger deepened her bow, then rose. “The name’s Ivrosa, mercenary for hire. Your steward sent me a letter about a problem in your hold. Said he needed some assistance with it.”

Her gaze was steady and fierce, like a boulder standing still amongst rapid waters. Elisif wasn’t used to people looking her directly in the eye; most citizens in the hold were too afraid of her power, and she didn’t know how to feel about this stranger who was so willing to maintain eye contact. She shifted in her throne and cleared her throat. “Falk? Is this true?”

Her steward ducked his head and nodded. “Yes, Jarl,” he said. “There have been scout reports of trouble in some nearby caves to the west. It looks like it might take more men and women than we can spare right now, so I thought I would bring in some outside help.”

“Surely you’re not just sending her by herself?”

Ivrosa cleared her throat loudly, drawing all attention in the room back to her. “Pardon me, Jarl, but I’m not by myself. I lead a band of mercenaries. We work for coin, if it’s good enough.”

“Right.” Elisif pursed her lips. “Falk, I assume you arranged for a payment already? Seeing as I have no recollection of making this decision to hire someone.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you beforehand, Jarl. You’ve been rather busy in your sessions with General Tullius, and I thought it best to just handle the matter myself,” Falk said sheepishly. 

Elisif paused, realizing Falk was right; she spent every waking moment thinking about and discussing plans for the war. It hadn’t even occurred to her that there were problems in her own hold that needed to be taken care of. She ought to be thanking Falk, not punishing him. Slowly, she eased her grip on the armrest of her throne, relaxing her fingers. “Yes, you’re right. Thank you, Falk, for taking care of this.”

The tension in Falk’s shoulders eased. “Of course, Jarl. It’s my duty.” 

Elisif focused her attention back on the stranger—Ivrosa, she’d called herself. Her complexion was that of a Dunmer, dark skin with blood red eyes. She embodied the image of a warrior, from the armor she wore to the scars on her face, hard won from previous battles. Around her neck, a crescent moon pendant glowed softly.

“Ivrosa, I trust that you and your band of mercenaries will be able to handle yourselves,” Elisif said. “Are you in need of any supplies before you leave?”

“We have enough to last for the next few days, but the offer is appreciated, Jarl,” Ivrosa said. “All we ask is that we return to a nice cooked meal once this is all dealt with.”

“We can certainly arrange for that,” Elisif said with a laugh. “If the best cooks in Skyrim’s finest palace can’t put together a decent meal, what hope do we have?”

The side of Ivrosa’s mouth curled up ever so slightly. “Point taken, Jarl.”

A watchful Tullius entered the throne room and greeted the court, which signaled that it was time for the daily briefing. Elisif dismissed her steward and Ivrosa, trusting that Falk would handle the matter, and with a heavy heart, rose from her throne to follow Tullius. But even as she turned her attention to matters of war, she found herself unable to get Ivrosa’s fierce gaze out of her mind.

* * *

When Ulfric Stormcloak marched into the Blue Palace and unleashed his Shout, the entire world listened. But Elisif didn’t just _hear_ his Shout; it reverberated in her bones as her Torygg dropped to the ground. Just before Ulfric delivered the killing blow. But it was Ulfric’s sword she remembered most—cool steel that gleamed in the moonlight, dripping with Torygg’s blood. She remembered its hilt, a bear engraved on it with unforgiving eyes that bored into hers.

Sometimes, as she sat atop her lonely throne, just before she dismissed her court for the night, she wondered if Ulfric ever regretted what he had done. If he saw the bloodshed since that moment and felt even a sliver of remorse for his betrayal. If he knew that the death of High King Torygg would set off a chain of events resulting in the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands, of her kinsmen—of her and Ulfric’s kinsmen. That the battlefields would stretch across the land, leaving nothing but ash and grief in their wake.

Perhaps this was all part of some grand plan the Divines had for her land and its people, and who was she to question the plans of the Divines? But these people needed a leader, and Elisif didn’t know if she could be one for them. Half the time, she couldn’t even rouse herself out of bed. Falk and her housecarl Bolgeir would often find her in the morning and drag her out into the sunlight, when all she wanted to do was go back to sleep.

She stretched her arm out in front of her face and spread her fingers, examining the cracks between them. The throne room was completely dark now, and moonlight shone through the high windows, casting ominous shadows. Echoing footsteps shook her from her reverie. Ivrosa made her way towards the throne in short, limping steps. Bloodstained swords hung by her sides, while matted hair clung to a face caked with dirt and sweat. Even more blood was smeared across her cheeks, and there was a cut that slashed across her chin.

“You can tell Falk I’m finished. The cave is clear.”

“Thank you for your service.” Elisif rose slowly from her throne, and as if she were possessed by someone else, stepped forward until she was within a foot of Ivrosa. “What was the trouble?”

“Necromancers. Don’t know what they were doing in there, and honestly.” Ivrosa scratched her forehead with her thumb and frowned. “I don’t think I want to know.”

Without thinking, Elisif reached out and fluttered her fingertips over the cut on Ivrosa’s chin. “Are you alright? I could have Sybille, my court wizard, make something for that.”

Ivrosa closed her eyes at Elisif’s touch and sighed so quietly that she wasn’t sure she’d even heard it. Elisif shivered, just a light ripple up and down her spine. “No, I’ll be fine. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” Ivrosa reopened her eyes, looking directly at Elisif now. Something like warmth, or maybe longing, lingered in her eyes. “But thank you… Jarl.”

“How do you do it? Stay so strong? You don’t seem phased by anything, and I’m well, I’m…” Elisif dropped her hand from Ivrosa’s face, careful not to rub blood on her gown. She had opened her mouth before it occurred to her that she hardly knew Ivrosa, aside from her name, appearance, and willingness to take on tasks that most would run scared from.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Jarl,” Ivrosa said, voice unusually soft. “It can’t be easy to run a hold and a war at the same time.”

She took the moon amulet around her neck in her hand.

“My mother used to tell me that our family strength comes from pain. My ancestors have seen more of it than I could ever imagine. They fled from the Red Year in Morrowind and came here, where they’ve experienced endless persecution and prejudice.” Ivrosa tightened her grip. “She was the one who gave me this amulet. That was before we were separated, when bandits took her from me, and it became a reminder for me to persevere. To remember what I come from.”

Elisif swallowed, unsure of what to say. “Thank you for… sharing your story,” she said, voice cracking. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all of that.”

“I’m past the point of tears, Jarl,” Ivrosa said, regaining some of her former confidence. “But the important part is that you will go through the same thing. You are experiencing pain, but you will survive it, and you will be a stronger person because of it.”

Elisif gave her a small smile. “Thank you.”

“You are quite welcome. Now, I request your permission to retire for the night. I’m in need of sleep, and this wound certainly won’t tend to itself,” Ivrosa said through a barely stifled yawn. Elisif nodded, and then Ivrosa bowed once before leaving the palace—and leaving Elisif alone with her thoughts.

She did not sleep that night. Instead, she watched the shadows on her ceiling form shapes, too busy thinking about Ivrosa, this stranger who had changed something in her during that moment, to shut her eyes.

* * *

Rain’s Hand departed without a single drop from the sky, but despite meager harvests so far, the people of Solitude decided to try their luck by planting more crops. Eager for a return to normalcy, they observed Second Planting on the seventh day of Second Seed, an event celebrating their hopes for new life. Neighbors put old feuds to rest, clerics healed the weak and weary free of charge, and people gathered to feast, drink, and be merry.

Since becoming the sole ruler of Haafingar, Elisif had not attended any celebrations held in its capital. She thought it too dangerous, with Torygg’s death still fresh in her memory, and chose instead to lock herself in her chambers and draw the blinds shut before taking a long nap. But on this particular Second Planting, Ivrosa insisted that they attend the festivities, and she would not take Elisif’s no for an answer as easily as she’d hoped.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly attend the celebrations,” Elisif said, fiddling with her amulet. “Someone like me, out in the open? It’s too dangerous.”

Ivrosa smirked, unsheathing one of her swords. “Relax, Jarl. As long as you’re with me, any assassin will be dead before they can even draw their blade.”

“Well, I suppose you’re right.” Elisif smiled. “Perhaps I could go for an hour or two.”

With a pleased grin on her face, Ivrosa led the way out of the palace, down the sloping stone path and into the city streets, where people had already started to gather under the afternoon sun. The courtyard by the Bard’s College bustled with activity, as merchants set up stands for food and drink, and neighbors mingled with one another. Even the uptight General Tullius and his faithful Legate Rikke had taken a break from war preparations and emerged from Castle Dour to join the festivities. Elisif tilted her head towards the sunlight and closed her eyes, breathing in fresh air. When she opened them again, Ivrosa was watching her with a soft expression.

“Come,” she said. “Let’s join the party.”

They weaved through the crowd, taking in the sights as they went. But the Jarl’s presence did not go unnoticed for long. 

“Jarl Elisif, what an honor.” Corpulus Vinius, the local innkeeper with a penchant for strange jokes, was selling food and drink by the entrance to the courtyard. “Would you care to try some of our homemade spiced wine? Made right here at The Winking Skeever!” He handed Elisif a goblet nearly overflowing with spiced wine. The cup was engraved with the symbol of Haafingar hold and decorated with dazzling sapphires that glinted in the sunlight. When Elisif didn’t move, he nodded and gestured towards the cup again.

Ivrosa took the goblet gently from his hands and sniffed it for a moment. “It’s safe.” She handed it to Elisif, who flashed her a grateful smile. Ivrosa took a second goblet for herself, and, when she thought Elisif wasn’t looking, handed Corpulus a small bag of Septims.

In the center of the courtyard, a group of bards struck up a lively, jaunty tune.

“I see the Bard’s College is making good use of the instruments I returned to them,” Ivrosa said with a wink as she raised her goblet to her lips. 

“Thanks for taking care of that, by the way,” Elisif said. “You have no idea how many times Viarmo requested an audience with my court.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Since handling the necromancers to the west, Ivrosa had stopped by the court every morning to see what tasks needed to be done to ensure the safety of the hold. And every time Elisif made a request, Ivrosa would simply respond, “Consider it done,” gaze never wavering even in the face of the most dangerous tasks. Elisif didn’t know how she could ever repay Ivrosa for everything she’d done.

As the bards played on, onlookers peeled themselves away from conversations to join a growing crowd of dancers lost in the beat. They circled around one another, smiling and laughing. Elisif sat off to the side on a stone bench, watching, and Ivrosa took a seat beside her.

“We should join them,” she said with a slight smile.

Elisif smoothed out the creases that had formed in her dress. “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly. I have to maintain some type of composure as the Jarl.”

“Understood.” Ivrosa didn’t push it any further, just continued to drink her wine.

As Elisif watched the dancers, a warmth formed in her chest, a fondness for the people she ruled over. There were many different races and types of people, and she marveled at their coexisting so peacefully in her city. And this, she remembered, was what they were fighting for. A free Skyrim that could be a home to anyone, if they so chose.

Ivrosa tapped Elisif on the shoulder, then pointed up. “Jarl, I think it may be about to rain.”

Elisif looked at the sky, and sure enough, clouds had gathered above in a thick, dark mass. It began with a few raindrops falling on the cobblestones. Then it turned into a drizzle, and finally a steady downpour. People cocked their heads towards the heavens, bewildered at first and then ecstatic, stretching their arms as if to capture as much of the rain as they could.

“By the Eight,” Elisif murmured, grinning in wonder.

The rains of Solitude had returned.

Some remained in the center of the courtyard, dancing amidst the downpour, while others scattered back to their homes to seek cover. The merchants hastily packed their wares into bags and dashed off into the streets. Ivrosa and Elisif did not move. Instead, Elisif used her hand to turn Ivrosa’s head towards her.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything you’ve done for me.”

“It was my pleasure,” Ivrosa whispered back.

Then Elisif pulled her in for a kiss, deep and passionate, and it was like a gentle stream passing through a forest. Like the rain after so many days of standing under the scorching sun. And she knew what this feeling was, even though she’d lost it somewhere along the way—it was hope.

It was Ivrosa who broke them apart. “I think we should head back to the palace, if that’s alright with you,” she said, shivering.

Elisif nodded, and Ivrosa grabbed her by the hand to lead her back to the palace. Once in the throne room, Elisif ordered one of her servants to tend to Ivrosa and provide her with a warm bath and food. Once Ivrosa was finished, she indulged herself in a bath and some steaming tea. Then she sat on her bed and thought about the day, her heart fluttering when she thought of the kiss they’d shared.

The rain continued well into the night, winds rattling the palace walls. A gentle knock at her chambers broke Elisif from her thoughts. She opened the door to Ivrosa, dressed only in a simple white nightshirt and linen pants. 

“Jarl. I wanted to wish you a good night before I return to my room at the inn.”

It had been a long time since she’d loved someone in her bed—not since Torygg died. She wondered what it would feel like, to have Ivrosa’s strong hands touch her skin, to see her body illuminated in the moonlight, to watch her face as she unraveled slowly, sweetly. 

“Please stay,” Elisif said quietly. “You’ll be cold again if you go outside.”

For the first time since Ulfric Stormcloak had altered the course of her life with his betrayal, Elisif felt as though she were breathing in new life. Her heart had finally released some of its weight and welcomed a beginning.

Ivrosa lifted Elisif’s hand to her lips to place a gentle kiss.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you've made it this far, thanks for taking the time to read and check out my work! I really enjoyed the chance to write a character study of sorts on Elisif, who I feel is a very underutilized character. If you'd like, feel free to leave any comments below. Otherwise, thanks again for reading :)


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